Part 16

Later I went to see Madame Lefaivre. She is in bed with a “synovite,” and is trying to superintend her packing at the same time. I met von Hintze as I came out of the Legation. He informed me, with a wicked smile, that the review was to celebrate, or rather, commemorate, the mutiny of the celebrated Twenty-ninth against Madero last February. Well, I hope we won’t get into trouble with the powers that be. He addressed me, saying, “I hear you presided over the military commemoration of to-day.”

I said, “Good heavens! _What_ commemoration?” I knew nothing of it, and was only interested to see what sort of a showing the troops would make!

I write no more. I feel very _triste_ with the sight of that poor, bleeding head before my eyes and the memory of the impact of that body against the motor.

_February 20th._

The poor man is still alive, but is going to die. The curious thing about the fatality (which is the only word for it) is that the man had just come from Querétaro, where he had sold a house for 4,200 pesos, which he had on him, and which were subsequently stolen from him at the _policía_. I noticed that when he was put on the stretcher his hand for a moment convulsively pressed his belt. I suppose moving him brought a momentary consciousness, and he thought weakly of his all. Doubtless he was the only _pelado_ in town that had that or _any_ amount on him. The chauffeur is in jail, and, after all, Kanya will have a lot of trouble before the matter has been arranged.

The comic journals of this week have just appeared. All take a shot at Mr. Wilson for his recognition of Peru. _Multicolor_ has him, with a smile, handing the _Reconocimiento_ to Peru--a handsome young woman, representing _la Revolución_--while with the other hand he tears the map of Mexico from the wall.

The other day Nelson had a most interesting talk with Huerta. He said he realized that the existence of any government in Mexico without the good-will of the United States was difficult, if not impossible; and that he was deeply distressed that they did not take into account the manifold difficulties under which he was laboring. It was at this interview that N. arranged the question of getting in arms. Huerta pointed out that all the requests N. had made him on behalf of the United States had been granted, and that the entire Federal army had been ordered to give special consideration to Americans. He said that he did not desire to criticize the government of the United States, but did wish to point out that if it defeats him in pacifying the country it will be forced into the difficult and thankless task of armed intervention. He continued that, on looking at the Mexican situation, one must not lose sight of the fact that Mexico is an Indian country (mentioning the difficulties _we_ had had with our Indians); that the Indian population here had been oppressed by the Spaniards and the landowning classes for centuries; that during the régime of Porfirio Diaz they had conceived the desire for material betterment, but were given no chance (the chances being for the few); that under the régime of Madero the revolutionary habit became general, as the sequel of unfulfillable promises. Also that the present task in Mexico was not to establish a democracy, but to establish order. He did not criticize the rebels of the north, but said they would never, in the event of victory, be able to establish a government in Mexico, and that one of their first acts would be to turn against the United States. From Maximilian to Huerta they have all known our friendship is essential.

The Benton case is going to make an untold amount of trouble, and the Mexican problem again comes into sight from the international point. A life is worth a life, perhaps, before God; but down here the murder of a wealthy British subject is of more account than that of some poor American or a thousand Mexicans. The best and most-to-be-believed version of Villa’s shooting of him is that, on Benton’s expostulating with him about the confiscation of his property in Chihuahua, he was shot, then and there. That is the reason they have been unwilling to let his wife have the body, which shows bullet-wounds in the _wrong places_. Villa claims he was shot after a court-martial had declared him guilty of an attempt on his, Villa’s life. You can imagine a wealthy Britisher attempting Villa’s life! All any foreigner up there wants is to be let alone. Whatever the true history may be, there is intense indignation on the frontier. Sir Cecil Spring-Rice has made formal protestations to the State Department. The English press is aroused, and it was told us by one correspondent that Sir Edward Grey will be called on to answer questions in Parliament. The fat is, at last, in the fire.

Dr. Ryan returned yesterday, more or less discouraged with his Washington trip. Everything for the rebels. Mr. Lind is so fascinated by them that I understand he is counseling direct financial aid--a loan. He hasn’t perceived the shape and color of events here, but has become obsessed by the idea of getting rid of Huerta. That and his hallucination about Villa cover the whole situation for him. What is to be done afterward if Huerta is squeezed out? That is what we all want to know--the afterward. One long vista of bloodshed and heartbreak and devastation presents itself.

_February 22d._

Elim has gone to his first and, I hope, his _last_ bull-fight, with Dr. Ryan. He has clamored so to go that I finally yielded. I feel rather uncertain about it. There was a very _chic_ dinner at von Hintze’s last night, for Sir Lionel, who leaves on Wednesday. I feel awfully sorry for him, but this Benton matter may be a justification, to a certain extent. He says he is only to be gone six weeks--but _quién sabe?_ Hohler has arrived--a good friend of ours. His are safe hands in which to leave matters.

Nelson is busy getting one of the American correspondents out of that terrible Belem. He has been put in there with all those vermin-covered people, with their typhoid and other germs, and must have had some bad hours.

_February 24th._

Just a line this morning. Am getting ready for my American bridge party, with prizes, this afternoon. I have some lovely large Ravell photographs in good old frames.

Last night Patchin, the very agreeable young _Tribune_ correspondent, came for dinner; we had the usual political conversation afterward. Clarence Hay read a poem of his (which I will later inclose) on the murder of young Gen. Gabriel Hernandez, last July, by Enrique Zepeda, then governor of the Federal district. Zepeda is called a “nephew” of Huerta, but is supposed to be his son. Zepeda gave a supper to which N. was invited; at the last moment, press of work made him unable to assist. The gods were with him that time, for, after the supper, at midnight, Zepeda, very much _allumé_, went to the _Penitenciaría_ where General Hernandez was imprisoned, took him out into the _patio_, and shot him dead. His men then burned the body, over which they were thoughtful enough to first pour kerosene. Zepeda was put in jail for eight months, and is just out. When he isn’t intoxicated he is almost “American” in his ideas, it appears.

_Wednesday, February 25th._

Last night we went to the station to see Sir Lionel off. I thought the cheers that went up as the train moved out of the station were for him, but it seems they were for some departing bull-fighters, who are always first in the hearts of their countrymen. It appears that Sir Lionel is carrying with him documents, plans, maps, etc., with a collection of fully authenticated horrors committed by the rebels in their campaign. He may not get an opportunity of laying them before President Wilson, but he will enjoy showing them to Sir Cecil Spring-Rice.

Yesterday, from the governor’s palace in Chihuahua, Villa gave forth a statement about the killing of Benton. He was seated on a throne-like chair on a raised dais, in almost regal style, his followers surrounding him and doing him homage. The gubernatorial palace is fitted up with the greatest luxury, the houses of the wealthiest residents of the town having been sacked for the purpose. Consider the picture of that untutored, bloody-handed brigand, surrounded by his spoils and his “courtiers.” He has never heard how “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” but he will doubtless have some practical experience of it. He has contradicted himself repeatedly in his statements about the killing of Benton. The body, bearing its mute testimony of being riddled with bullets by a firing-squad, lies under a heap of refuse.

XVI

Huerta’s impressive review for the special correspondents--The _Grito de Dolores_--Tons of “stationery” for the Embassy--Villa and Carranza disagree--The Embassy guard finds itself occupied.

_February 26th. Noon._

We are just home, after seeing the review (from Chapultepec through town to the _Zocalo_) of all the troops now in the city. They were turned out for the benefit of the special correspondents, invited to the gay scene by Huerta, and the government is paying all the expenses. The regular correspondents in town feel rather peeved about the matter. We sat in the motor in the _Zocalo_, under the cloudless sky and soft, penetrating sun, and watched the _défilé_. The banner of the Twenty-ninth bore the long, red streamer that Huerta had tied on the other day, with trembling fingers. The troops were all well armed. They had new rifles and new, well-filled cartridge-belts, and the effect was most encouraging--for _Huerta_. The special correspondents, from the windows of the Palace, had their cameras and cine machines in action. Really, Huerta has done wonders to keep the troops together so well and so long, in the face of such overwhelming odds. The bugle-calls and the martial music echoed over the Plaza--the setting for so many centuries of the hopes and fears, the beginnings and the endings, of these Mexican people.

I thought of the 1911 anniversary of the _Grito de Dolores_--that night of the 16th of September when I stood on the middle balcony of the _Palacio_, with de la Barra and Madero, when the former was still President _ad interim_, and the latter was hoping all things. There we looked down on fifty or sixty thousand upturned faces, while the celebrated _Campana de la Independencia_ (Independence bell) rang above our heads, followed by the great bells from the illuminated towers of the cathedral. The present is nearer the past in Mexico than anywhere else.[10] As we came home we were snapshotted a dozen times by the disconsolate correspondents who had not been invited to the Palace to “assist” at the parade. Coming up “Plateros,” Nelson saw Huerta’s automobile outside of “El Globo” restaurant, and left me, to go in to speak to him.

This morning the big banana-tree in the front garden was released from its winter wrappings, if one can call these cloudless days winter. The most wonderful banners of purest, palest yellow are gently waving against the perfect sky. I am now waiting for Hohler to come to lunch. Sir Lionel went off (during a tremendous _norte_), in the battle-ship _Essex_, which is taking him to Galveston. His country is treating him almost to the honors we give fleeing Maderistas.

Villa has not yet given up the body of Benton. If there is much more delay it will not be able to bear testimony to the truth. Unfortunately, a Federal officer, it is rumored, has hanged an American citizen, Vergara, at Piedras Negras. His pardon, sent from headquarters, came too late. Huerta will probably make an example of the hasty officer, if the deed has really been committed. We heard this morning that Carranza is going to make short work of O’Shaughnessy when _he_ gets here. When!

I had a very interesting conversation with Hohler, who is thoroughly sincere and trustworthy, and able to look at things as they are. We sat long over our coffee, talking of the international web, of which Mexico is now so uncertain and frail a mesh. He intends to do what he can for _his_ nationals. He is without fear, in a practical, unnervous way.

The reverse of the medal is that he is a tireless collector and connoisseur of beautiful things, and what he doesn’t get, the Belgian minister does. Between them, there is very little left for anybody else.

_February 27th._

Villa is still refusing to deliver up the body of Benton, even at the risk of offending the United States. Huerta expects Villa to hang himself with his own rope. He says he is a _tonto_, violent, undisciplined, and _can’t_ do what he ought. The rumors that he is refusing to receive orders from Carranza are taking more explicit shape. He says that Carranza has never once put himself in danger; that he (Villa) has done all; that he receives commands from no one. He has repeatedly and vainly been asked to go to confer with Carranza, and we now hear that the mountain of all constitutional virtues is going to Mohammed. The deadly wine of success is mounting to Villa’s head. He now has wealth to the extent of some millions of pesos. The Torreon and Chihuahua confiscations were enormous, not counting what he and his followers have taken in all the small towns looted. He has not the sense to perceive in what difficulties his killing of Benton has placed the people who are anxious to be his friends. He evidently thinks that a man who cannot write or read must “make his mark” in other ways.

Our Gatling-guns, with ammunition, are arriving to-day in Vera Cruz, by the Ward Line steamer. They are to be got up here under the head of Embassy supplies--stationery, and the like. Huerta knows they are, but wants the thing done in a manner that he can wink at. The “stationery” will weigh tons.

_February 28th._

Elim had his curls shockingly cut this morning, but his bang has been left. He is as proud as a puppy with two tails. The “crime” was committed by a soft-speaking Haitian barber, who won’t get another chance at my only child. Elim knows nothing of death and dissolution; has been calling “_Mima_,” all over the house, and has just dashed into the drawing-room, where I am writing, to ask for a trumpet. He is so clever about music that I am almost tempted to sacrifice every one in the house and get him one. He will soon be playing the national air.

Yesterday I had tea with Madame B. She was looking very handsome, lying among her costly blue-ribboned laces. The baby, born ten days ago, looks like a miniature “conqueror,” with its severe Spanish features and glossy black hair. Madame B.’s father, who is one of the wealthiest _hacendados_, spoke with Huerta for the first time several weeks ago at the Jockey Club. The President asked him, “How are matters in Morelos?” (The Zapatista country where they have immense sugar haciendas.) Don. L. answered, “You are killing us with your demands for contributions.” Huerta grew rather excited. “You do nothing for the country,” he declared, “neither you nor your sons.” Don L. answered, “I have lost one and a half millions in the past year.” “Lucky man to have it to lose,” commented Huerta, grimly. “Great sugar crops are now ready for harvesting, but I can get no men,” Don L. went on; “they are all in the army. Give me men and I will give you contributions.”

Huerta immediately sent the men needed, the sugar is being harvested, and Don L. feels convinced that Huerta is doing what he can; but his daughter, who told me all this, added, with a smile and flash of white teeth, “Pardon me; but what _can_ we do with your Mr. Wilson on our backs?”

_Evening._

We have had such a day of agitation. Telegrams from New York tell us that Nelson’s father has received the last sacraments. We have telegraphed to Vera Cruz to know if one of the smaller fast ships is in the harbor. I might go in it to New Orleans and thence by rail to New York--in all seventy-eight or eighty hours from Vera Cruz. Berthe has been packing my things. I know lives must end, but my heart is very sad.

I kept my engagement to take the Russian and Austrian ministers out to Tozzer’s Aztec diggings. Their governments have subscribed money for archæological work in Mexico (I have never _quite_ understood why), and Tozzer was most anxious to have them see what he had done. We had tea, and _regalitos_ of heads of idols, dug up on the spot--spontaneously offered, this time. There was a dust-storm blowing--the volcanoes were invisible--and things were generally gritty. All the time my thoughts were turning toward the life-and-death issue, and I was so anxious to get home.

The Lefaivres leave definitely on the 12th. The Legation is dismantled, and Madame Lefaivre is still lying with her knee in plaster. Their secretary and his wife naturally see them leave with mixed feelings. We all know how _that_ is, for what greater benefit can a chief bestow than absence? Madame Lefaivre said to the secretary: “What if the ship doesn’t sail on the 12th?” He made the most polite of disclaimers, but she answered, smilingly, “Oh, I know the hearts of secretaries!”

_March 1st._

I have just come from Mass, wondering how it is with the soul and body of Nelson’s father....

This morning Washington must be thinking “how sharper than a serpent’s tooth”! Carranza and Villa are defying the supreme powers. They even deny our rights to ask information regarding Benton, who, they say, is a British subject--adding that they will listen to only such representations as are made to them by Great Britain herself “through the proper diplomatic channels.” No one knew any such channels existed. They add, further, that this ruling applies to other nations desiring redress for their people. The Frankenstein monster is certainly growing. Carranza also says that he has already investigated the Benton affair, but only for use in case Great Britain desires to take up the matter with him as head of the revolution. The matter of Gustav Bauch, American citizen, he will be kind enough to discuss with Mr. Bryan, stating that he “greatly laments his death.” This turn is most unexpected, though Villa and Carranza were very uppish several months ago when William Bayard Hale was sent to treat with them. Now that the embargo is lifted, their arrogance knows no bounds.

Vergara, the _supposed_ American citizen, _supposed_ to have been put to death at Piedras Negras by a Federal officer, and whose death so greatly outraged Washington, has simply escaped and rejoined the rebel forces. It appears, on investigation, that he was the chief of a gang of eighteen bandits, and his occupation was the getting in of arms and ammunition across the border for the rebels, or the driving of large herds of stolen cattle over to the American side. The Federals would have had a perfect right to shoot him.

Yours of January 31st, understanding all so deeply, says nothing of my typewritten letter about the Vera Cruz trip. It must be a relief to you to get a legible letter. McKenna, N.’s new young secretary, discreet and competent, copied it for me.

Your report of having seen a statement in the newspapers about “rushing the troops up to Mexico” reminds me of a correspondent of one of the big New York newspapers. He appeared here the other day, saying he had been sent hurriedly to Vera Cruz on inside information from Washington to be ready to go up to Mexico City with the troops.

Last night Huerta, in view of the safety of his crown jewel--_i. e._, Nelson--said he was going to send a guard to the Embassy. There was an _equivocación_ (there always _is_ some mistake in Mexico) and an armed guard of eight was sent to the American Club, a place Nelson rarely goes to. About half past nine we had excited telephone calls that the Club was guarded by these soldiers, as riots were evidently feared by the authorities. The newspaper men sent telegrams about it to New York, but it was simply a case of going to the wrong place. This morning four soldiers with rifles appeared as permanent “guests,” but we don’t need them. We have nice old Francisco and the new young _gendarme_, Manuel, who was added some months ago. Each legation here has one guard. I am glad to have Francisco and Manuel, on Elim’s account. They always seem to know just what he is doing in the garden.

We were so thankful to see, in one of the newspapers, the head-line, “Huerta snubs O’Shaughnessy.” Of course it isn’t true, but it will make an excellent impression at home; and it may even give N.’s first-hand, accurate information about matters some weight. The same newspaper also shows a picture of Huerta at some charity performance with his wife and daughters and Naranjo, Minister of Public Instruction. He looks (and doubtless felt) the personification of boredom. The head-lines are, “Huerta enjoying social life while riots rage in capital.”

_March 2d._

Your letter of the 5th, sent after the raising of the embargo, is received. I can well understand your worrying about our remaining in Mexico. We worried for a few minutes, but by now you will have received my letter telling all about it. It will take something gigantic, something outside of Huerta, to cause him to give Nelson his passports, no matter how often fiery, enraged Cabinet Ministers may urge it.

Last night, on returning home, we found that Huerta had sent us six more soldiers with a sergeant. It made me feel as if the house were the setting for an act from some _opéra bouffe_. We gave the soldiers packages of cigarettes and a drink apiece, and I suppose they rested on the sofas or floors of the parterre. N. never leaves the house without his secret-service man, a decent fellow, but dressed to the rôle in a loud, tight, bright-blue suit with white stripes, and pistols--the last articles outlined against his person every time he makes a motion. We have a beautiful new motor--low, smooth-running, painted black, with a smart dark-gray band about it. He occupies the seat beside Jesus, gets out when N. gets out, and waits around ostentatiously while N. attends to whatever he has on hand. He is an awful bore, and quite unnecessary, but Huerta answered, when N. protested, “_Es mejor_” (“It is better so”).

FOOTNOTE:

[10] This is the famous bell the priest Hidalgo rang from his church in the village of Dolores, in the State of Guanajauto, in the early morning of September 16th, 1810, sounding the appeal known as the “Grito de Dolores” (cry from Dolores)--the first cry of Mexican independence, to be continued through more than a century of blood and disaster.

XVII

The torture of Terrazas--Mexico’s banking eccentricities--Departure of the Lefaivres--Zapatista methods--Gustavo Madero’s death--First experience of Latin-American revolutions--Huerta’s witty speech.

_March 4th. Afternoon._